


You're Not Okay, and That's Alright

by sparksaam



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Blood, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, It Gets a Little Gory Sorry, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Medical Inaccuracies, Natasha Romanov Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Peter Gives Himself Stitches and it Doesn't Go Well, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, broken ribs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparksaam/pseuds/sparksaam
Summary: "Don’t pretend like you’re not clutching your side like it’s gonna fall off. Seriously, you look like shit, kid."Peter swallowed and looked down at his feet. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.“It’s stupid. I’m fine.”Natasha must have picked up on the kid’s tone, because she softened her voice and gently tipped his chin up until he was making eye contact with her. He looked so small and afraid.“No, Peter. You’re not okay. And that’s alright.”She began to walk down the hall toward Peter’s bedroom and beckoned for him to follow.“Come on. Let’s take a look at your side.”ORAfter an accident on patrol, Peter tries to deal with an injury on his own. When everything goes wrong, Natasha is there to make things better.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 35
Kudos: 258





	You're Not Okay, and That's Alright

**Author's Note:**

> hey guyssss. It's been almost four years since I actually sat down and wrote a fic, but I'm stuck in the house with nothing to do so i figured why not?
> 
> anyway, here's Peter being an idiot and Natasha cleaning up his messes because there are not enough soft Peter & Nat fics out there. ENJOY!!
> 
> -sam

Peter had been injured plenty of times as Spider-Man. It wasn’t unusual for him to come home after a long night of patrolling with a couple of bruises and cuts—cracked ribs, even (those were typically followed by a long lecture from May or Mr. Stark about the dangers of risk-taking). It was all part of the job; fighting Queens’ most notorious villains wasn’t a walk in the park, after all.

  
The thing about tonight, though, was that the kid hadn’t injured himself in hand-to-hand combat with a brawny criminal or a shoot-out with a maniacal super villain. Nope. Tonight, Peter’s biggest adversary happened to be the dumpster behind Mr. Delmar’s sandwich shop. Thanks to this ill-placed hunk of metal, the kid had a deep, stinging scrape across his side and a seriously bruised ego. Badassery be damned.

  
The evening had been going pretty smoothly up to that point. Peter had finished his homework in record time and gotten an early start on patrol. It was a Friday, and the weather was uncharacteristically warm for early April. With so many people outside, Peter was kept busy all evening, assisting with everything from muggings to traffic accidents. He even swung by some kid’s birthday party, surprising all the excited toddlers, and snagging a piece of cake for himself in the process-- a win for everyone involved.

  
By the end of the night, Peter was almost dizzy with exhaustion. It was almost one in the morning, and after a long night of vigilantism, he was ready to crawl into bed. He and Mr. Stark had plans to test his new web shooters in the morning, so May was letting him stay at the tower all weekend. All Peter had left to do was swing back to Delmar’s and grab his backpack from the alley.

  
Whether it was the inky darkness obscuring the alley, Peter’s exhaustion clouding his mind, or an unfortunate combination of the two, the kid failed to see the poorly placed dumpster until it was too late. He swung right into it, the metal corner of the dumpster colliding painfully with his right side. With an involuntary yelp that echoed through the small alley, Peter crumped awkwardly to the ground at the base of the dumpster, the web he had been swinging on falling limply beside him on the concrete.

  
_Ouch._

  
The kid lay on his back in the dark alley, panting heavily. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain and disbelief. Out of all the things that could take him down, a dumpster was not at the top of Peter’s list.

  
Still breathing heavily, Peter took a second to recollect himself before he slowly propped himself up against the ill-fated dumpster, whimpering as a sudden wave of pain shot up his right side. _That wasn’t good._

  
It was so dark in the alley that Peter could barely see his hands in front of his face, let alone his injured side. He pawed helplessly at the ground around him, searching for his backpack in the impenetrable dark, sighing in relief when his wandering hand made contact with the fabric of his bag. Careful not to jostle his throbbing side, Peter cautiously unzipped the bag and felt around inside for his phone. After fumbling for a moment, he found the device and turned on the flashlight, wincing as the blinding light cut through the darkness of the alley. As the light illuminated Peter’s side, the kid was hit by a sudden wave of nausea at the sight of his wound.

The corner of the dumpster had made a nasty mess of his right side. There was a large tear in the fabric of his suit (which Mr. Stark would certainly yell at him for later), revealing a leaking gash right below Peter’s ribs. Fresh bruises littered the hero’s pale skin around the wound and promised at least a few broken ribs. The cut itself was deep and steadily bleeding. The kid had dealt with much worse, but Peter knew he would need to get it stitched up before he passed out from blood loss.

Aiming his web shooter at the wound, Peter shot a thick layer of compression webs onto his side to staunch the bleeding, suppressing a groan as the webs collided with his injury. Examining his handiwork under the harsh glow of his phone flashlight, Peter was satisfied. The webbing was haphazard, but it was doing its job to slow the steady stream of blood flowing from his side. Now he just had to make it to the tower without passing out. Thank God he was only a few blocks away. There was no way he could swing right now thanks to the stinging, throbbing pain radiating up his side. He’d just have to walk.

  
As Peter slowly raised himself to his feet, using that damn dumpster to support himself, all he could think about was how grateful he was that Ned had disabled the Baby Monitor Protocol in his suit. If Mr. Stark knew he’d lost a fight with a dumpster, he’d never hear the end of it.

  
It took much longer than he’d expected for Peter to reach the tower. The alleys he stumbled through were dark and so unbearably long. He knew he had to avoid the lighted main avenues, though. The last thing Peter need was a paparazzi picture of Spider-Man stumbling helplessly through the streets of New York to end up on the front page of The Daily Bugle. His ego had already taken a hit tonight.

  
After what felt like hours of staggering along side streets, Peter finally reached the tower, its electric glow a welcome sight to the sore and lightheaded vigilante. The kid slipped through the front doors, into the elevator, and down the lengthy hallway toward Tony’s lab, desperate to sit down and pop a couple of painkillers. The stinging in his side had evolved into a sharp throb that made Peter wince with each slow and grueling step. The strain of the tower’s bright lights made his head pound angrily, adding to Peter’s agony.

  
When the doors of Tony’s lab finally came into view, Peter stopped. He heard Mr. Stark inside, undoubtedly working on some cutting-edge project, and chatting carelessly with someone—it sounded like Rhodey. The billionaire was laughing, and as his voice echoed down the hall, Peter felt a twinge of guilt in his gut. Tony had been so stressed lately, and this was the happiest Peter had heard his mentor sound in a while. The kid dreaded limping into the lab and ruining the man’s mood. He could already see Mr. Stark’s face when he saw the kid, contorting into a frown of worry, maybe even panic. In a split-second decision, Peter quietly slipped past the doors of the lab, slinking into his bedroom instead, being careful to shut the door as quietly as possible and lock it before slumping down exhaustedly onto his bed.

  
Peter could deal with this problem himself. After all, he took care of his own minor injuries all the time when May was working late, right? The med kit Tony kept in Peter’s bathroom contained all the supplies he needed to stich up the gash in his side, and by doing the work himself, Peter wasn’t bothering Tony. It was a win-win situation in his eyes.

  
Getting out of bed was a lot more work than Peter had anticipated. Finally laying down after such an exhausting evening, Peter’s body was basically useless. He could barely keep his eyes open, the pounding headache, the overwhelming ache in his side, and the dizziness from blood loss all mixing into a dangerous cocktail. However, no matter how much he wanted to sleep, the idea of Tony finding him lying unconscious on a pile of bloody bedsheets was frightening enough to motivate the kid out of bed and into the attached bathroom.

  
By some miracle, Peter was able to make it to the bathroom in one piece. He was startled by his mangled reflection in the bathroom mirror. God, he looked like shit. Dark circles haloed Peter’s eyes, and his pale face was glimmering with sweat. His unruly, soaked curls were plastered to his forehead haphazardly, and an ugly bruise he didn’t realize he’d acquired had blossomed across his jaw. Peter’s eyes trailed down to his right side, where his wound had begun to bleed through the webs across his torso. Peter began to slowly peel them off, wincing as the blood-crusted webs were pulled from his sore wound, when there was a knock at his door.

  
“Hey, Underoos? Can I come in?”

  
Peter jumped at the sudden noise, his heart racing as he scrambled to brush the bloody webs into the garbage bin. Another wave of dizziness hit him suddenly, and he clutched the sink with shaking hands to steady himself.

  
“Uh, what is it?”, Peter asked, silently cursing himself for not hiding the tremor in his voice. Peter heard Tony try the door handle and remembered to his relief that he had locked the door behind him.

  
“Is everything okay?” Tony asked through the door. “FRIDAY told me you’d come back from patrol, but you went straight to your room.”

  
Peter swallowed, composing himself before speaking. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

  
Tony sounded relieved, and Peter relaxed a little bit. “Okay kid. Any chance you wanna come work in the lab with me and Rhodes? We developed a new feature for the War Machine suit that I think you’d really like.”

  
“No thanks,” Peter answered, perhaps too quickly. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed. I’m pretty tired. Thanks though, Mr. Stark.”

  
Tony’s voices softened. “Of course, kiddo. Rest up, okay? I want you to feel your best tomorrow when we work on those new web shooters. I’ve got loads of ideas.”

  
“Okay, Mr. Stark. Goodnight.”

  
“Goodnight, kid.”

  
As he listened to Tony’s footsteps disappear down the hall, Peter felt a twinge of longing. Part of him wanted to run after Tony, who would hold him close, stitch up his side, and tell him everything would be alright. Peter knew he couldn’t do that though. He didn’t want to worry the man, plus Peter was getting older. He couldn’t just run to Tony every time he messed up. He needed to handle this on his own.

  
With a renewed vigor, Peter turned back to the task at hand, reaching up into the medicine cabinet to grab the med kit before plopping himself back onto his bed. After stripping off the top part of his suit, Peter lay out all the contents of the kit in front of him on the mattress. Gauze, bandages, a of bottle of painkillers which Peter dully tossed aside. Those pills wouldn’t even touch him with his enhanced metabolism. Better to sneak into the med bay later and grab some of the painkillers Bruce had made specifically for him. Peter continued to dig through the kit, eventually finding exactly what he had been looking for: a suture kit. He cracked open the kit carefully, pulling out a needle and thread, forceps, and suture scissors. He examined the tools for a second, a bit daunted, before recollecting himself.

  
Despite his long history of injuries, Peter had never given himself stitches before. It was usually May, Tony, or Bruce who sewed his wounds closed for him. It couldn’t be that hard thought, right? It looked so easy when they do it on TV. Plus, Peter had mended little rips in his Spider-Man suit loads of times. It was basically the same thing.

  
Taking a deep breath, Peter took a piece of gauze from the med kit and held it to his cut, soaking up some of the blood that had begun to flow again after he peeled off the webs. After he soaked up the blood, Peter set the dirty gauze down on the bed and scooted over his headboard, propping himself up against it. His cut was at an odd angle, and Peter did his best to find a position where he could sew it up as easily as possible. When he was comfortable, or as comfortable as he could get with a gaping gash in his side, the kid picked up the needle and brought it carefully to his side. He pushed the needle through his skin and immediately choked on a gag. The dizziness was back, this time worse than before, and Peter closed his eyes, breathing slowly to try and calm himself before trying again. He brought the needle to the wound again, this time pulling the needle all the way through his flesh. His stomach churned unhappily as Peter tried his best not to vomit, but he continued to bring the needle back around and thread it through his skin again. He whimpered as the needle pierced his side over and over, but the pain of the stitches was dull in comparison to the throbbing of the wound itself. Peter’s hands shook violently as he stitched the skin closed and his stomach flipped dangerously, but eventually he finished the job.

  
Signing in relief, Peter set the needle down on the bed, thankful to have finished his arduous task, and he waddled over to the bathroom sink to examine his work.  
However, the sight of the black stitches littered across his side made Peter feel ill all over again. The stitching was sloppy and uneven, and his skin was pulled oddly under the thread. It looked like something out of a gory horror movie. Even worse, the sutures weren’t even doing their job. Blood leaked from in between the stitches and began to flow down his side and drip onto the bathroom tile.

  
_Well, shit._

  
Peter didn’t even try to hold back the hot tears that began to flow from his eyes as he made his way back to his bed and collapsed in a hopeless heap. He just wanted all of this to be over. He had been having such a good night until that stupid dumpster ruined everything.

  
As Peter quietly sobbed, he recognized what he needed to do. Despite wanting to handle this situation on his own, he couldn’t deny that he needed help.

  
Wiping the tears and snot from his face, the kid slowly got up and shuffled over to his closet, carefully pulling a loose t-shirt over his head and slipping into a pair of pajama pants. He made his way over to the sink and splashed a bit of cold water on his face, then slowly padded out his bedroom door and into the hallway toward Tony’s lab, praying that the mechanic wouldn’t kill him for lying about being okay.

  
As he reluctantly rounded the corner and entered Mr. Stark’s lab, bracing himself to be chewed out, Peter was shocked to find that Tony was nowhere in sight. Instead, someone else sat at the lab table, humming quietly and meddling with what looked like a pair of nun chucks.

  
_Natasha?_ Peter thought to himself. _What is she doing here?_

  
In a frantic effort to exit the lab without the assassin noticing, Peter darted back out the doors and around the corner.

  
“Hey, kid.” Natasha shouted after him, and Peter’s shoulders shrunk in defeat. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you walk in here.”

  
Grudgingly, the kid slunk back into the lab to face Natasha, who had now looked up from her project. Her eyes darted to Peter, sizing up the pathetic-looking boy in _Star Wars_ pajamas who was clutching his side guiltily.

  
“Uh, hi Nat.” Peter greeted her, his cheeks growing hot. “Do you know where Mr. Stark is?”

  
Natasha stood up from the lab table and started slowly walking toward Peter, eyeing him with suspicion.

  
“Rhodey finally convinced Tony to leave the lab and go get a drink. The man hadn’t left his workbench in almost two days. I think they’re at the bar across the street.”

  
Peter hoped Natasha couldn’t hear the disappointment in his voice. He spoke carefully, avoiding eye contact.

  
“Oh, okay. Well, when he gets back can you send him to my room? I need to talk to him.”

  
Peter began to walk away quickly, eager to get away from the assassin’s penetrating gaze.

  
Natasha, however, was too fast for Peter. She bolted to the door and put her arm across the doorway, effectively blocking the exit. “Nuh uh, маленький паук. Not until you tell me what’s going on. Don’t pretend like you’re not clutching your side like it’s gonna fall off. Seriously, you look like shit, kid.

  
Peter swallowed and looked down at his feet. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

  
“It’s stupid. I’m fine.”

  
Natasha must have picked up on the kid’s tone, because she softened her voice and gently tipped his chin up until he was making eye contact with her. He looked so small and afraid.

  
“No, Peter. You’re not okay. And that’s alright.”

  
She began to walk down the hall toward Peter’s bedroom and beckoned for him to follow.

  
“Come on. Let’s take a look at your side.”

  
Peter reluctantly shuffled after the assassin, mortified to look so weak in front of Black Widow of all people. But he was too tired to argue.

  
He followed Nat into his bedroom and then the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat when she beckoned him to. Natasha opened the medicine cabinet above the sink and began shuffling through it.

  
“Where is the med kit?”

  
“Uh…”, Peter nodded toward his bed, and Natasha’s eyes grew wide.

  
“Shit. What happened, kid? It looks like a war zone in here.”

  
Peter looked down at his lap, clearly embarrassed. He felt dizzy again, and he leaned forward, placing his head in his shaking hands.

  
“I tried to stitch myself up and, uh, it didn’t go so well.”

  
“I can see that”, Natasha stated, her tone serious but not cold. She quickly grabbed the med kit and made her way back to Peter, squatting in front of him and gently rubbing his knee in an attempt to comfort the kid. Peter sighed; her touch was more comforting than he’d like to admit.

  
“Alright. Let’s see what we’re working with here.” Natasha nodded toward Peter’s side, and he slowly started to pull his T-shirt over his head, gasping suddenly as the movement pulled at his botched stitches. Refusing to watch the kid struggle, Nat offered up a kind smile and helped Peter remove his shirt as gently as possible. When she saw the bruises and the mangled mess of stitches winding up Peter’s side, she hissed sympathetically.

  
“Geez, kid. You weren’t kidding.”

  
Peter didn’t say anything. He just continued to stare at the floor, avoiding eye contact like the plague. Eventually, he just offered up a pitiful “Sorry”.

  
Nat was quick to stop him. “No no no. Stop apologizing, kid. It’s not your fault. I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of experience with stitching yourself up?”

  
Peter simply shook his head. Natasha smiled gently.

  
“It’s alright, Peter. I’ll get you fixed up. Let’s get those stitches out first. We don’t want your healing factor to kick in while your side is all mangled like that.”

  
Peter was thankful that Nat didn’t ask a lot of questions or pry. As he watched the assassin begin to remove his stitches with the suture scissors, he spoke up suddenly.

  
“Have you done sutures before?”

  
Natasha looked at him inquiringly, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

  
“Are you kidding, kid? I stitch people up all the time. Kinda part of the job description. Actually, I stitched up Barton’s eyebrow yesterday.” She smiles to herself as she began snipping at the stiches in Peter’s side.

  
The young hero looked up at the assassin, his eyes no longer glued to the floor.

  
“Wait, really? What happened? Did he get injured on a mission?”

  
Nat shook her head, laughing. “He was playing outside with Lila and Nate and he fell off the swing set.”

  
Peter, who had previously been on the verge of tears, let out a small chuckle, his face lighting up as he laughed.

  
“We may spend our lives saving the world,” Natasha continued, “but even we superheroes have our off days. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you know that bruise Steve has on his forehead?”

  
Peter nodded in affirmation. “Yeah, the one from last week’s Siberia mission?”

  
Natasha grinned. “That’s what he _wants_ you to believe. He actually got that shiner from falling off his chair in the conference room.”

  
At that, the kid burst out laughing, all previous woes forgotten at the mental image of Captain America toppling out of an office chair.

  
As Nat removed the final wonky stitch from the kid’s side and began to prepare to redo the sutures, the small bathroom fell into a comfortable silence. Peter watched the assassin work, her fingers so gentle as she thread the needle. After a few moments, the kid softly piped up.

  
“I swung into a dumpster.”

  
Natasha stopped what she was doing to look up at the kid.

  
“A dumpster?”

  
“Yeah, it was dark, and I didn’t see it coming, and, well…” Peter gestured to the atrocious gash on his torso.

  
Natasha bit her lip and looked back to the needle, obviously trying to suppress a smile. Peter sighed.

It’s okay; you can laugh. It was super dumb.”

  
Natasha looked back up at the kid, her eyes bright. “That’s pretty impressive honestly. A dumpster did _this_?” She gesticulated wildly toward Peter’s gruesome wound.

  
Peter’s face flushed in response, and the assassin reached up to ruffle his curls, grinning. “One day, you’ll laugh about this”.

  
Peter couldn’t help but smile back at Natasha, who turned her attention back to the task at hand.

  
“Ready?”

  
As soon as the needle pierced his tender side, Peter let out a sudden groan, gripping the side of the sink to brace himself against the pain.

  
“Sorry, kid.” Nat winced in sympathy. “If it makes you feel any better, Barton cries like a baby every time I stitch him up, so you’re already tougher than he is.”

  
It only took a few minutes for Natasha to finish stitching up Peter’s side. When she had finished, the kid stood up in front of the bathroom mirror to examine her handiwork. To his surprise, the previously gnarly gash across his side looked significantly less nauseating, with a long row of neat, black stitches holding it closed. Peter turned to the woman gratefully.

  
“It looks so much better.” Peter’s tone was genuine. “Thank you.”

  
“Of course, kid.” Nat pressed a piece of clean gauze to the cut and began to tape it cautiously over Peter’s side. When she was done, she gently grabbed Peter’s chin and tilted it up until their eyes met.

  
“Peter, listen to me. Next time you get hurt you need to tell an adult. This isn’t the kind of thing a kid—hell, even an adult—should have to deal with on their own. We all care about you and want to keep you safe. You’re a member of our team after all.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I know you and I aren’t very close, but if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to ask me. I’m here for you, kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of shit on your own.”

  
Peter nodded, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d wrapped his arms around the woman, enveloping Natasha in a hug despite his injuries. “Thank you”, he whispered.

  
Natasha’s heart swelled at the kid’s words, and she carefully hugged him back.

  
“Anytime, Peter.” She ran a hand through his curls absentmindedly before speaking again. “And another thing. Please don’t ever try to give yourself stitches again. I haven’t seen anything that gruesome since Budapest.”

  
Peter laughed as he stepped back from their hug. “Oh, trust me. Never again.”

  
At that moment, the echo of the elevator dinging rang through the tower, followed by the sound of Tony and Rhodey having a very loud discussion.

  
Nat swept the used medical supplies into the garbage bin and began to wash her hands in the bathroom sink.

  
“Sounds like the boys are home. Let’s go get you some ice for those ribs.”

  
Peter followed Natasha into the kitchen and was greeted by the sight of a slightly intoxicated Tony Stark, leaning against the kitchen island and gesticulating wildly to an only slightly more sober Colonel Rhodes. When Tony spotted Peter, the conversation came to a halt.

  
“What happened to you, Underoos?” Tony’s eyes widened at the sight of Peter’s mangled torso.

  
Peter, suddenly self-conscious of his bare chest, wrapped his arms around the wound nonchalantly. But before he could say anything, Natasha chimed in.

  
“He stopped a robbery. Standard badass superhero stuff.” Tony looked almost impressed as she continued. “He had a little mishap with a knife, but we fixed him up good as new.” The woman grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and turned to the kid, winking as she handed it to him. Peter smiled at her gratefully, glad to not have to explain the embarrassing truth to Mr. Stark.

  
“Wow, kid. I’m impressed.” Tony beamed, the slight slur in his words causing Rhodey to roll his eyes.

  
“Well,” Natasha piped in, “I don’t know about you all, but it’s been a long day and I’m starving.”

  
“I second that.” Rhodey looked grateful.

  
Peter’s eyes lit up at the promise of food. “Me too!”

  
“I think we have some ice cream in the freezer. Pepper just bought a bunch.” Tony nodded toward the fridge.

  
“Can we watch a movie, too?” Peter looked to Tony, his face hopeful.

  
“Only if it’s _The Empire Strikes Back_.”

  
There were murmurs of agreement as the hungry group began to dig through the freezer in search of ice cream.

  
Despite all the chaos of the evening, by the end of the night, Peter had all but forgotten the dumpster incident. Wrapped up in a blanket, eating a bowl of Rocky Road ice cream, and watching _Star Wars_ , all while surrounded by his childhood heroes, Peter felt incredibly safe.

  
Even the aching of his cracked ribs and the pull of the stiches in his side couldn’t put a damper on what had ended up being a wonderful night.

**Author's Note:**

> like I said, I read fics all the time but I haven't actually written in YEARS. I would love to hear honest opinions about what you guys thought of this.
> 
> also, come hang out with me on tumblr! my username is the same as on here (sparksaam). drop some fic requests, get excited about whump with me, or just come say hi!
> 
> if you actually read this whole thing THANK YOU and I LOVE YOU so much!!!
> 
> -sam


End file.
